I'm Not Afraid To Die I Deserve It
by CelenaDiAngelo2000
Summary: (I SUCK HORRIBLY AT SUMMARIES!) Nico DiAngelo is tired...of life, of breathing, of being alive. One-Shot; my first story! It's a little poem I wrote about what goes on in my mind, but I used Nico as my character since I'm like OBSESSED with the Percy Jackson & the Olympians series.


**A/N: So hi to whoever feels like reading this. This is my first story, well it's a one-shot. I've wanted a fanfiction for some time now, but some things…prevented me. Ah, I might as well tell you. I have chronic depression, am suicidal, self-harm, and have anxiety. I just keep getting worse and worse. **

**Well, my therapist said to express myself. I only do it through writing though, so that poses a problem. Whatever…anyways, I'm gonna do it through this story. I would've posted it earlier, but where I was, no Internet. *Shrugs***

**I am absolutely IN LOVE with Nico DiAngelo, so he's the protagonist of my story. Also, he seems all dark and depressed. In this story, there are NO GREEK GODS, just THE God, as Heavenly Father. This is just things that run through the messed up thing I call my mind and what I envision for myself (call me crazy, I don't care). So enjoy, I guess.**

**WARNINGS: self harm, suicide, judgement against God (in a sense, I guess).**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the awesomeness that is Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Rick Riordan beat me to it.**

* * *

Today is the end. The end of Nico DiAngelo. The end of a pathetic life.

The THOUGHTS.

_"Here we are again, Nico. What are you going to do now?"_

What constantly swam through his head, each and every day.

NEGLECTED. What he was.

Everyone; EVERYONE, left him. Betrayed him, one way or another.

There one was that one thing that never left him, though.

His only friend, through all thick in thin. Attached to his skin, showing him

What was under the pale, olive-toned skin. All the beautiful red liquid.

All the beautiful red liquid held by those accursed blue cylinders.

He sighed deeply, reaching out to grasp the cold piece of steel, tightening his grip,

Deepening his sigh.

The tips of his fingers just barely reach the point of the cold metal. Breath hitched in his throat,

He runs the blade over his arm, over all of the monsters in his head,

Over all of the demons in his soul. The smallest smile plays on his lips.

While the dark red liquid rushes down his arm. The pain temporarily leaves his body.

Well, of course there's pain, but the physical pain is so much easier to bear with than the mental pain.

What he was TOLD.

_"There's a mighty awesome God above. Pray and believe; he'll be there."_

Where is God; where is the Almighty to heal him—or even better.

Remove his pain; eliminate him from the Earth.

"Where are you God? If you ARE God, show me a sign."

Said? Multiple times. Signs? None.

_"The Savior and Lord will save you as he once has. HE hears your calls, he helps."_

Where was God now? When he, Nico DiAngelo, was ready to take what he can never get back.

His life.

Where was God now? Tell him where he is.

Not one miracle, yet _"God loves all"_.

He used to say the world could never shatter him. But then he looks down at the blood-stained razor,

The blood gushing down his arm, then splattering to the floor, nauseating splash after splash.

At this point, he's ready. His breathing continues to get shallower,

While more and more blood escapes.

Then that's the moment he makes a split-decision. Die now, or return to the pain of life.

It seems like a joke, that second option. The first option is what reality is.

Life played him. Gave him false direction.

_Step by step. Like a toy soldier._

Well, let's play life back.

_We all fall down. We never win. Like toy soldiers._

Finally, his arm snakes to his back pocket, clutching his pocket knife.

With one swift move, the knife impales his throat.

He gasps, choking on his blood. But hey, what did he want in the first place?

Before reaching his death, he only has one last thought.

One last thought to this evil universe.

_"Humans were born to sin. Sinners were born for a reason._

_And now? I'm not afraid to die, I deserve it."_

That's exactly when Nico DiAngelo collapses, his life completely and utterly gone.

That's what he is.

DEAD.

And he's happy to declare himself so.

* * *

**A/N: So I'm so sorry that this story sucked. I'm usually good at writing, but…oh well. But if you care enough, please review. Flames are welcomed; I'm used to them in everyday life anyways. Criticize, whatever. Just let me know that people actually read this. Thanks. **

**~CelenaDiAngelo2000 **


End file.
